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“First time I noticed, old Tom handed me a pint and it shook in his hand. Thought the poor lad had Parkinson’s or something! But it happened again. Round about every Sunday when I was in the pub. More or less every time, I’d be taking a sip and I’d spill it everywhere.”

“The wife complains to me nearly every night now. They keep happening. That spice rack – the one I built for her for Christmas? – stupid thing just spills them out onto the counter. Fourteen jars smashed now so I’ve had to put a bar across it. It looks ugly now. Kitchen’s a mess, we can’t keep books on the shelves. Piles of them on the floor. And the telly stopped working. Now I have to read. Christ.”